Let the Bells Jing
by Biel N. Mouresat
Summary: "I was about four feet away from Spencer when she made a move to crawl backwards and farther away from me. A move that set off a whole chain of new events. Events that eventually led up to the demise of the furry deviant." Holliday story. AU. Please read.


_**I was laying in bed today listening to some Christmas music and this idea came to me. Just a short holliday story-or what is up to this point a short story-about Spashley and friends. It should be complete before December ends. Hopefully you guys like.**_

**LET THE BELLS JING**

**December 24 - Christmas Eve**

"Spencer, could you just please-dad get away!-could you just please hear me out?"

I scream out from behind my hiding place-the marble island-across the kitchen to where the blonde is now cowering under the breakfast table. Her hair had fallen forward like a golden curtain shielding her face from my pleading eyes. Her hair also holds contents of what was suppose to be tonight's Christmas dinner. She was down on all fours, her hands and knees supporting themselves against the used-to-be-white tiles. From what I could make out, they were now covered in a chocolate-y brown substance. That was supposed to be our dessert that was now smeared across the better part of the cooking area. Chocolate mousse. My favorite.

Ah, Christmas dinner! A gathering which seems to have turned into something between a riot and a circus. Complete with flying squirrels and a vomiting midget. All we need now is a bearded lady. The movement of gold in my peripherals caught my attention and I willed my eyes to look away from the chaos unfolding before me brought on by the vicious furry animal that had claimed the top of my father's snow-white hair as it's throne. I looked back to where Spencer had taken refuge and saw that she had lifted her head-as well as brushed back her hair-and was now looking in my direction. Our eyes locked. I saw her lips move and I had to strain my ears to make out what it was she was saying.

In-between my dad's shrieks of pain as the squirrel clawed at his forehead and my dad's howls of anger directed at my mom who seemed to be failing miserably at helping him relieve himself of the rabid animal, I realized how lucky I was that my best friend was a mime and that she'd taught me to read lips.

"Ashley-Raife get away!-not-RAIFE!-not now Ashley!" I read as her perfect lips pronounced each word. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"If not now then when? You leave tomorrow!"

I saw her roll her eyes right back and-had it not been for all the noise drowning her out-I could have sworn she let out a low frustrated growl. Sexy.

Totally not the time to be having those thoughts.

"You. Have. My. Number!" It was harder to make out what she was saying this time around as she was gritting her teeth. My dad had just stomped on both her hands in his desperation to free himself from the brown furball gripping to his scalp for dear life and my mother who was now throwing blows to his back with her cow-spots patterned broomstick. She was about 6 inches shorter than him and although she aimed at the creature above his shoulders she never made it past his neck. It is unnecessary to point out that come tomorrow morning the man would be in serious pain.

"Oh, like you're going to answer my calls!"

I couldn't keep the bitterness from being evident in my voice. Seven years and what I had spoken was the raw truth. Seven years, countless phone calls, countless texts. All unanswered. In a way I guess I deserved. If I'm being quiet honest, that wasn't a guess. That was simply the truth. I deserved nothing but having Spencer wishing I could jump up my own ass and evaporate into the wind like a noiseless fart.

Yeah, you can thank Spencer for that imagery. Or her English professor. Whatever.

Back to the chaos.

"Why the hell should I?" She bellowed. "UGH! You treated me like crap! When you asked for a chance I gave it to you only for it to thrown back in my face!"

I was about to respond when my two twin 6 year old nephews charged inside the kitchen. They were dressed from head to toe in the G.I. Joe costumes I had purchased for them. As gifts. Gifts for _this_ Christmas. Gifts that were suppose to be wrapped under the tree right now. Did I mention they were wielding weapons? Now, I know potatoes aren't exactly your deadliest weapon but, they can be when they're baked and fresh out of the oven. I should know seeing as one was just aimed at my face and hit it's target. Ouch. Spencer found this highly amusing.

However, I'll deal with the third degree burns as long as I get to hear that angelic laughter that's haunted my dreams since junior high.

As I wiped the remaining baked food from my flesh, I decided that I'd had enough of this crap. I needed to talk to her. Explain. And no rodent, side-show freak, nor bratty nephews would stand in my way. I stood up from behind the island and began making my way towards Spencer. She seemed to have realized my intentions as I saw her give me the meanest scowl as if to silently say 'don't you dare get any closer to me'. Oh, I dared. Third degree burns and rabies be damned, I was going to make her listen to me.

Of course, like every other paramount event in my life, fate seems to have a different idea of how things will go, should go, and-finally-wind up going.

I was about four feet away from Spencer when she made a move to crawl backwards and farther away from me. A move that set off a whole chain of new events. Events that eventually led up to the demise of the furry deviant.

Forgetting that she was knuckle deep in brown goop, she scattered backwards and her hands slipped out from under her. Her face meeting the cold tiled floor in .2 seconds flat and eliciting a pained moan from her as well as drawing blood from her perfectly kissable lips.

My eyes widened and I rushed forward to assist her. In my carelessness to reach the wounded blonde, I completely missed the baked potato that had been dropped on the floor directly in front of me. My foot covered the potato and my world was flipped upside down as my leg slipped forward and was thrown out from under me. I was sent catapulting-arms flailing, throat screaming-straight into my father. He never saw it coming.

Two identical screams bounced back and forth between the kitchen walls as my dad, the rodent, and I were made aware that yes, gravity still does exist. My mom and Spencer could do nothing but watch-and scream-as my body met the hard floor, the arm I threw out to break my fall made a disgustingly bone chilling crunch. The rodent was next as his fuzzy back made contact with my face. Lastly, the man of the house came crashing down atop my already sore body crushing the big rat in-between both our heads.

Davies 1, rodents 0.

Mr. fuzzers was out for the count. I was very well on my way to joining him.

"Gwamma! Are they dead?" I heard one of the twins shout. The last thing I heard before blacking out.

The last thing I saw was my mother and Spencer hovering over us. Spencer clearly mouthing 'Ashley are you alright?'. I responded by rolling my eyes back into my head and passing out.

Maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself here with this story and by now many of you are probably mightily confused. Maybe I should backtrack a bit and tell you how this all started? Maybe that will help in answering exactly what in the hell is going on in my house for Christmas? Maybe by reflecting on all the events that led up to this kitchen disaster I won't only assist you in answering the one question that isn't only number one in your list of questions but also in mine.

What the hell did I do to Spencer Carlin to put myself into this situation?


End file.
